


Dangerous Type

by rendawnie



Series: Pieces [12]
Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bars and Pubs, Dating, Drinking, First Meetings, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Humor, Karaoke, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Relationship(s), Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rendawnie/pseuds/rendawnie
Summary: Yuto introduces Hyojong to his friends.Soundtrack: "Dangerous Type", Letters to Cleo





	Dangerous Type

Yuto bounces from foot to foot, shivering and cursing his forgetfulness under his breath. It’s two days before Christmas, he’s being slapped in the face with snow, and he’d left his coat behind this morning in the rush to get out the door.

He’s been standing on the street corner in front of the noraebang for twenty minutes, because Hyojong, as usual, is late. Yuto wouldn’t mind, normally. He finds it kind of adorable, how completely Hyojong fails at keeping track of time. He’s sent two texts to Hyojong so far that have gone unanswered, and everyone else is waiting inside, so in another five minutes, Yuto figures he’ll send a third.

Suddenly, he’s enveloped from behind by something big, warm and furry. He knows it’s not Hyojong. Hyojong is more...small, medium-cool and smooth. Yuto looks down, and to his surprise, someone’s pushing the very coat he forgot to bring over his shoulders haphazardly. Yuto tries to turn himself to see what’s happening, and a moment later, Hyojong peeks out from around his torso, smiling. “You left this at my place. I grabbed it before I headed out to the studio after lunch.”

Yuto tries not to make a total idiot of himself, grinning and blushing and watching Hyojong duck under his arm as he slips the coat on, watching him come to a halt when they’re face to face.

“Thanks,” Yuto murmurs. They’ve only been dating for a few months, but it’s going alarmingly well. So well, in fact, that Yuto is perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop, for it all to go topsy-turvy, but while he’s waiting, he’s going to enjoy the hell out of it. No one’s ever taken care of him like Hyojong does. Mostly because he wouldn’t let them, but Hyojong doesn’t take no for an answer. He simply changes his methods enough to where Yuto is always too late noticing to complain.

He doesn’t think he would anymore, anyway.

Yuto’s still bouncing from foot to foot, but it’s less because of the cold now, and more because he’s nervous. Tonight, Hyojong is meeting his friends for the first time, and of course, Hyunggu has suggested a noraebang, even though Yuto can’t sing and doesn’t like being the center of attention, but then Wooseok had chimed in with his enthusiastic support and Yuto couldn’t quite find it within himself to say no. Hyojong had agreed readily, anyway, so if he was into it, Yuto could try to be, too.

He gazes down at Hyojong, stuffed into an oversized jacket with a hoodie underneath and a beanie smushed over his hair, and wonders for the hundredth time how he got so lucky.

In theory, it shouldn’t be going this well.

Hyojong has a reputation. Yuto knew that before they got together, and he’d tried to avoid Hyojong at every turn, but it was difficult when the restaurant Yuto waited tables at was conveniently situated right next to Hyojong’s recording studio job.

He didn’t know anyone _else_ knew Hyojong until he let his name slip one day, and he watched all his friends’ faces change, one by one. Some were disgruntled, others protective. The response had been overwhelmingly negative.

*

“Kim _Hyojong_?” Jinho questioned one night, over giant bowls of pasta. “Ugh. No. Total player. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

Yuto had frowned.

“Wait, the same Hyojong that used to go out with Yujin? No. You cannot. He will _ruin_ you, my friend,” Hwitaek protested while they did their laundry together in the communal machines at their apartment complex.

Yuto had sighed loudly.

“No,” Hongseok decided, flat out.

“Been there, done that, got the t-shirt as he was kicking me to the curb the next morning,” Shinwon reported.

“My sister says he runs an illegal turtle fighting ring, Yuto. _Turtle fighting,_ ” Changgu told him, leaning against the bar at the restaurant during a slow Thursday shift.

Yuto thought that seemed a little improbable.

“Hyojong? No, I don’t know her,” Yanan answered immediately.

_Well._

Hyunggu gave him a look of disdain in the mirror while Yuto got his bi-weekly haircut at the salon Hyunggu co-owned. “Please, god, no,” was his simple response.

“How does everyone even _know_ him?” Yuto had wondered aloud.

“He’s just that one crazy guy,” Wooseok mused on the phone one late night. “Y’know? The guy that everyone knows because everyone talks about him, but no one really _knows._ ”

God help him, Yuto wanted to know. And also, he deeply regretted telling Hyojong he’d think about his invitation to grab a cup of tea some night after work, and in the meantime asking everyone’s advice about the whole situation. He should have just gone with his instinct and said yes, straight away.

Two days later, he _did_ say yes, and that was almost three months ago, and Yuto has never been happier.

*

Until tonight.

Tonight, Jinho is finally emerging as the clear victor in the battle to ensure that they all formally meet Hyojong. Yuto knows why. It's to size him up. Figure him out. Judge him harshly, and spit him out, most likely.

Yuto sighs, steeling his nerves. “I guess we better go inside,” he mutters, staring towards the door of the noraebang.

Hyojong peers at him curiously. “Are you nervous?” he asks, even though the answer is obvious. It’s obvious enough that Yuto doesn’t feel the need to reply.

Hyojong frowns a little. “Don’t be nervous. I’m the one who should be worried. I know what everyone thinks of me.”

Yuto matches his frown. “Why do you let them?” he questions.

Hyojong shrugs. “Because I don’t _care_ what anyone thinks, except you, now. You’re the first person who’s made me care.”

He doesn’t even look embarrassed to be saying it. He looks so earnest, in fact, that Yuto kind of just wants to grab him and kiss him and push him into the nearest taxi and direct the driver far, far away from this place before his well-meaning friends can ruin the next thirty or so Important Moments in their relationship, probably on accident. Mostly.

Hyojong tugs him towards the door gently before he can do it.

*

Later in the evening, Yuto is half-drunk and Hyojong is twerking on his lap and performing Jay Park’s “Mommae”. Yuto can’t seem to stop smiling and laughing, and everyone else is staring at him like he’s suddenly grown a horn right in the middle of his forehead.

Yuto knows he’s not like this. He’s never like this, ever. He is stoic. Dignified. Manly.

Mostly.

Kim Hyojong is trying to break him.

(He’s succeeding.)

When the song finishes and Hyojong wanders off towards the bar again, Changgu grabs Yuto by his slighty sweaty shirt collar and yanks him forward and hisses, “ _That guy_ runs an illegal turtle fighting ring??”

Yuto snorts, tired of it all, suddenly. “No, Changgu, he doesn’t. Seventy-five percent of the things you’ve heard about him are probably wrong.”

Changgu _hrmphs_ and sits back, only to be replaced by Hyunggu, eyes wide as saucers as he whispers reverently in Yuto’s ear, “I wanna dye his hair blond. Do you think he’d let me?”

“Yes,” Yuto replies, in between feeling dizzy and overly warm at the very thought of blond Hyojong.

Hyojong returns with not only another round for Yuto, but another for _everybody,_ and then he drops back down into his chair, puts his legs up on Yuto’s lap, and murmurs, “Do you think it’s going okay, now?”

Yuto chuckles. “I mean. Yeah. Now that they’re actually meeting _you_ and not your reputation, it’s going swimmingly,” he replies, giving Hyojong an amused side-eye.

Hyojong rolls his eyes in return. “Well, I’m glad, I think.” He lifts his legs off of Yuto and scoots his chair up next to him at the table, instead, eyes on Yanan as he sails through Big Bang’s “Last Dance” effortlessly. Hongseok is leading an audience singalong. Hyunggu is waving a lighter solemnly.

Yuto really hopes the song ends soon, because the minute he feels Hyojong’s fingers tiptoeing their way up his thigh under the table, he can tell this is going places that he doesn’t want to visit while this sad, sad song is playing.

He tries to glance over as casually as possible. “What are you doing?” he asks softly. Wooseok chooses “Bang Bang Bang” next.  _That’ll work._

Hyojong keeps his eyes on the entertainment, smirking. “Living up to my reputation,” he answers, his voice a quiet purr now.

Yuto blushes bright red, taking a shot of soju with one shaking hand. “I think everyone’s realized you’re not that guy, Hyojong. You don’t _have_ to--oh, _god…_ ” He trails off when Hyojong gets bold enough to palm him through his jeans. Yuto glances around the room. No one’s noticed yet. They’re too busy cackling at Wooseok’s attempts at the iconic dance moves.

“True,” Hyojong whispers, his lips close enough to brush the shell of Yuto’s ear now. “I don’t have to. But sometimes it’s a lot of fun,” he reasons, and then he’s unbuttoning and unzipping and stroking, and his hand is hot wrapped around Yuto and Yuto is freaking the _fuck_ out but he can’t concentrate on panicking because that’s the moment he realizes he’s incredibly close to--no, scratch that, he’s done. It’s over. _That’s all she wrote, folks._

Blessedly, Hyojong thinks to leave Yuto's jeans the way he found them, and Yuto lets him, still in a daze. He looks up again when he’s composed himself just enough, trying to breathe normally and look unaffected, when in fact he is capable of absolutely none of those things.

He needs to gauge who might be suspicious. He’s pretty damn sure _everyone_ will be more than suspicious when he has to stand up and they see the wet stain he can feel forming in a very specific location.

Only Jinho looks back at him, an amused twinkle in his eye.

He totally fucking knows.

Yuto groans inwardly, chancing a quick inspection of his lower half. There’s definitely no way he can hide the evidence.

Next to him, Hyojong is still grinning, more than a little triumphantly. He takes off his jacket, and then his hoodie, tossing it over Yuto’s lap. “Here. Tie that around,” he says calmly, and Yuto is torn between wanting to yell at him and wanting to take him to the bathroom and finish what he started, so he settles for laughing breathlessly and nuzzling into the crook of Hyojong’s neck as he ties the hoodie around his waist, still coming down from the unexpected adrenaline rush.

Just then, Yanan leans over and taps Hyojong on the shoulder. When Yuto gets a good look at him, he can see that Yanan’s eyes are just this side of glassy, the full cup of makgeolli in his hand wobbling just a little. He’s very good at being drunk, really. A stranger would never realize. Yuto just knows all the signs.

Hyojong raises his eyebrows, silently inviting Yanan to talk, and Yanan gives him a big, happy, drunk-warm smile and slurs, “You’re okay, man. I’m glad you’re together. It’s good.”

Yanan gestures towards Yuto with his cup. Neither Hyojong nor Yuto mention that in doing so, he manages to slosh makgeolli all over Yuto’s already sullied jeans.

“It’s good, Yuto!” Yanan shouts, and Yuto nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to say something snarky in return, and then Hyojong nods and Yanan nods and they all turn back around just in time to witness Hwitaek try to do all thirteen parts of Seventeen’s “Mansae” choreography by himself.

Yuto watches for a minute, but then Hyojong is snuggling against his side and feeding him peanuts idly from the bowl on the table and Yuto shakes his head, laughing.

“You’re unbelievable. Unbelievably dangerous,” he says, kissing Hyojong’s nose.

Hyojong scrunches up his nose and chuckles, popping another peanut into his own mouth before he answers. “Only if my reputation is to be believed.”


End file.
